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Derek's Baby Boy

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Stiles leaves the bar weaving, face set with determination as he points his feet towards home. Really, he should have this “getting home impossibly trashed” thing down by now. He’s finally found a fake ID that works and he’s used it every night for the past week. Overused it, probably, but what the hell, he’s young. It’s almost a shame that he’ll be legal in a few months and won’t need it anymore.

He’s so focused on not throwing up as he tries to make his way down the sidewalk that he stops paying attention to where he’s going and suddenly blinks at his surroundings to find he’s wandered down some filthy alley.


He uses the brick wall to get himself turned around, only to find two men in black coats standing right behind him. Shit. Cops? If they ask for his ID he’s screwed.

“Lost?” one asks pleasantly.

“Nah, just…heading home.” He tries to sound sober and fails miserably. “Excuse me.”

The one who’d spoken grabs his arm as he tries to pass and Stiles flails, losing his balance and nearly going down. “Oh, little one,” the man says, voice gentle. “You’re a mess, aren’t you?”

Stiles blinks. Little one? What the hell?

“Let’s get you out of here, poor thing.” The man puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and something pricks his neck, making him jerk. It’s all happening so fast; he doesn’t understand…

“What’s happ’ning?” he slurs, feeling his legs give out. The men are practically carrying him, bundling him inside a warm car.

“Nothing to worry about.” A soothing hand strokes his cheek; the last thing he feels. “You’re going to be just fine, sweet little boy.”


Derek takes one last look around the nursery. Everything is perfect. He’s painted the walls a gentle shade of blue, a nice calm color for when his baby is agitated. The oversize crib, dressers, and changing table are ready and waiting. He opens a drawer to run his hand over soft folded onesies.

The pack, he knows, is amused by the almost obsessive way he’s been preparing. They were all stunned at the very idea of him taking a baby through the Society’s adoption process— “You know you can’t kill it when it misbehaves, right?” Erica had jeered before she realized Derek was serious.

They don’t get it. Derek has worked very, very hard not to hate humans after what they did to his family. He understands now that humans are weak, simple things that lash out at what they fear. They should be controlled, but controlled doesn’t mean eradicated.

The Society understands that. They take humans of all ages and provide them for whatever purpose werewolves might want— beloved pets, cherished babies, even slaves. In Derek’s community, where only werewolves live, he’s seen humans used to fit all kind of roles.

And now it’s his turn. He smiles as he shuts off the light, imagining how sweet it will be when he can finally strap his little one down into the crib and turn on the night-lights so it won’t be afraid. He’s waited for so long, but the day is finally here.

Tomorrow he’ll have his baby in his arms.


There’s nothing Marin likes more than preparing the new babies for their adoptions. Marin hums slightly under her breath as she looks over the little ones that have just been flown in. There are medicated patches on their necks, keeping them slumbering until they’ve been chosen. They’re difficult enough to prepare without being awake and fussy.

She undresses and washes them, applying plenty of cream and powder so their skin will be perfectly smooth. She has the hair removal treatment down to a science and rids them of that unsightly body hair quickly, giving them one more rinse down once it’s done. She needs a blood sample from each one but they’re too far under to react to the needle. Then she puts on their first diapers, nice puffy things that will be all they wear before they’re dressed in their first onesies by their Mommies and Daddies.

She wraps each one in a blue or pink blanket, swaddling them tightly so the dear little things won’t be cold, before placing them in clear incubators that lock from the outside. That way, even if they somehow wake up, nobody has to worry about them trying to run around the halls. They’re wheeled one at a time into the large room that soon will be full of perusing customers. The halls are calm now, but in the morning they’ll be a madhouse. She’s looking forward to it. Adoption day is so much fun.

One of the babies is whimpering a little, thrashing so fiercely he nearly manages to pop a fist out of his swaddling blanket, and she reaches inside the incubator to make sure his medicated path is on correctly. The baby’s face smooths out and he makes an absolutely adorable sound. “There you are, little one,” she coos, stroking his cheek with her finger. “Sweet dreams.”


Derek is jittery as he waits in the holding room for the nurse to come and fetch him. He’s paid top dollar to be the very first customer allowed in to look over the babies and it’ll be time any minute now.

When a woman in a white dress finally opens the door he nearly explodes out of his seat. “Mr. Hale?” the woman says sweetly. “I’m Nurse Marin. Follow me.”

He does, to a large room filled with incubators. His breath catches at the sight of the babies inside, adorably swaddled in blankets with hats on their heads. “You’re welcome to spend as much time as you like,” Marin tells him, unlocking the top of one of the incubators and carefully lifting out a sleeping girl. “They won’t wake up. Would you like to hold her?”

He nods and she transfers the girl into his arms. She’s light as a feather against his strength, face smooth in sleep. She’s so sweet that he almost just chooses her right there, but he knows he should be discerning. Make sure he’s picking exactly the right baby. After a few moments rocking the little girl he reluctantly hands her back to Marin, who puts her into her incubator.

He walks up and down the rows, examining each baby. He reaches in to touch every one, asking Marin to lift out those that look especially sweet. He’s starting to despair at the idea of choosing between them when he comes to a little boy, so pale, mouth hanging open. He immediately wants to slip a pacifier past those lips or tickle the boy’s tummy until he’s giggling.

“I want to hold this one.”

Marin lifts him out obligingly and settles him into Derek’s arms. He’s a warm, soft bundle, long-limbed enough that his swaddled feet hang over Derek’s arms. He smells soft and powdery and his little face is so innocent. Derek can imagine rocking him to sleep in the chair he has set up in the nursery, or watching him play on the mat in the living room. He’s perfect. “This one,” Derek says, unable to take his eyes away from the baby’s face. Love at first sight. He’d thought it was too corny to be true. “I want this one.”

“You’re sure?”


Marin smiles and reaches over to carefully peel away the patch on the boy’s neck, replacing it quickly with a bandage. “That kept a low-grade anesthetic in his bloodstream. He should wake up any moment so he can meet his Daddy.” She slides an overlarge pacifier into his open mouth, strapping it around his head so he can’t spit it out. “He’ll be fussy, so it’s good to have that on hand.”

Derek rocks the baby, trying not to puff up with happiness at the word Daddy. Sure enough it only takes a few minutes before the baby’s face is wrinkling, mouth forming a little moue as he tries to gets his bearings. “Hello there,” Derek says softly, trying to keep up a soothing rocking pace. He'd gone through hours and hours of training with Society reps to make sure his baby's first few days would be as easy as possible and he knows these first few moments of his little boy's new life are crucial. “You want to say hi to Daddy?”

His baby squints up at him, adorably bewildered. Derek smiles and presses little kisses all over his cheeks and forehead. He can feel his little boy wriggling against him, trying to work his pacifier out of his mouth. “Sh, baby,” Derek croons. “Daddy’s here.”


Stiles has no fucking idea what’s going on.

A strange man is holding him as though he weighs nothing, beaming down at him like he’s a little puppy or something. “Daddy’s here,” the man coos, a warm hand stroking Stiles’ cheek. Stiles wants to scream at him to put him down, but there’s something strapped into his mouth and he can’t get it out. He’s wrapped in a blanket, so tightly he can’t even get his arms free.

“Let’s get him checked out, Mr. Hale,” a soft voice says. The man— Mr. Hale— smiles reassuringly at Stiles and starts to walk with him. Stiles panics, thinking the man is bound to drop him, but he doesn’t. He’s freaky strong.

Suddenly he’s being laid down on some kind of hard surface and unwrapped by a woman. He’s not wearing any clothes, but there’s something around his ass, something kind of soft and thick. The woman puts her hand over his swaddled crotch as though she’s checking to see if it’s wet. “What a little cutie you are,” the woman says. “Come take a look at him, Mr. Hale.”

The man’s face pops back into Stiles’ line of vision. Warm fingers scrunch playfully over his belly and Stiles wiggles frantically, but he’s too sluggish to really move. “He’s perfect,” Mr. Hale says happily.

“You can get him dressed.”

“Look what Daddy has for you,” the man says to Stiles, shaking out an oversize onesie. Stiles can’t move as he’s dressed in it, the man snapping it closed over his belly and between his legs. The man lifts each of his hands and puts on mittens, pulling a little drawstring so they’re on tightly. “All finished!” the man says to him in a high, babyish voice.

Stiles thinks he might burst into hysterical laughter. This is insane. It has to be a joke, right? This dude— this incredibly good-looking dude— is the host of some kind of gotcha show. There are probably cameras over him right now catching everything. He tries to bat Mr. Hale away so he can sit up but it only prompts a chorus of awws from Mr. Hale and the woman, who seem to think his struggles are the most adorable thing ever.

Mr. Hale picks him up again, cuddling him close. The woman is writing something on a little certificate, which she sticks to the front of a cot with raised sides. It’s some type of nametag decorated with little cartoon clouds and rainbows: Hi! My name is Stiles and my Daddy is Derek Hale.

How do they know his name? His fake ID had said something else…

Mr. Hale— Derek--puts him onto the cot and he’s wheeled down a hall into another room, this one small and pastel-painted. “You two bond,” the woman says cheerfully. “The doctor will give your little one a proper examination just as soon as all the adoptions are finished. Diapers are over here, bottles in the minifridge, and just press the call button if you need anything.”

“Thank you so much.”

Stiles tries to struggle again when he’s lifted out of the cot by Derek, but it’s pointless. He would be too weak to fight a kitten right now, let alone the Incredible Hulk here. Derek smiles and sits in a rocking chair with him. “I know everything’s so scary and new right now,” he coos. “But Daddy is going to take such good care of you. Once the doctor makes sure you’re all healthy we’re going to fly in a big, big plane and go home, where Daddy has lots of nice toys for you...”

Stiles hears plane and freaks out, getting enough strength in his limbs to punch Derek in the chest with his mitten-covered hands. Derek only chuckles as if he felt nothing and pushes Stiles’ hands down. “No hitting, little one, that’s not nice.”

Stiles tries to plead with him but with the huge pacifier in his mouth all that comes out is incomprehensible noises, sounding like baby babbles even to his own ears. Derek’s expression is downright moony, like Stiles is just too cute, and he squeezes Stiles close to his chest as he rocks back and forth. The motion is instinctively soothing and Stiles can feel himself calming down. He can’t panic. He has to find a way out of here.

“Daddy’s special boy must be hungry,” Derek coos, and Stiles is being lifted again. He keeps thinking he’s going to fall and he burrows into Derek’s chest in terror, but Derek doesn’t drop him. “Let’s see here…I don’t think we need your sleepytime milk yet; that’s for when you need your nap. Here’s a nice full bottle for my baby.” He shifts Stiles’ weight to one arm so he can take a bottle out of the minifridge. When they get back to the rocking chair Derek carefully unstraps the pacifier from around Stiles’ head.

It’s such a relief to be free of it that he wastes precious seconds gasping for air. “Wait,” he croaks when Derek raises the nipple of the bottle to his lips. “Please let me go, please…”

Derek frowns at him. It changes his face completely, making him look absolutely terrifying, and Stiles shrinks back. “No, Stiles. Big-boy sounds aren’t allowed. Don’t make Daddy punish you already.”

It’s the first time Derek has used his name, and that, along with the word punish, has tears springing to Stiles’ eyes. Derek immediately softens at the sight of them. “Oh, little one. It’s all right. Daddy will never punish his little prince for not knowing the rules. But now you know, so no more big-boy words. Daddy knows what you need, you don’t have to tell me.” Derek gently pushes the bottle’s nipple into his mouth. “Drink your milk.”

The milk, or whatever it is, is heavy and grainy, and tastes like there’s some kind of artificial sweetener in it. He doesn’t like it, but Derek has the bottle tilted so all he can do is swallow each mouthful until the bottle is empty.

“Such a good boy!” Derek lifts him so he’s half-sitting, then pats his back rhythmically until Stiles burps. It’s so humiliating that tears are in his eyes again, but Derek just keeps praising him as he snuggles Stiles into another embrace. He pokes the pacifier back into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles is too stunned to resist.

Derek starts rocking him again, talking all the while about the nursery he has set up for his beautiful boy, and the toys Stiles can play with, and all the nice aunts and uncles he’s going to meet once he’s home. “Uncle Peter has a little puppy dog. Does my baby like puppies?”

Stiles blinks warily at him. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to communicate at all, or if that’s considered a “big-boy” action, so he decides to test the waters by nodding.

Derek’s face breaks out into a radiant smile. “Yeah? Then Daddy will make sure Uncle Peter brings his puppy over to play.”

So nodding is okay. Good to know. He isn’t sure how that knowledge is going to help him escape but he has to find out exactly what the rules are here if he ever wants to get away.

Derek keeps talking and rocking, but Stiles is distracted by a sudden, familiar feeling. He needs to piss. He wriggles uncomfortably, trying to get into a position that isn’t putting pressure on his bladder, but Derek is holding him too tightly. He whimpers.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Derek stops rocking and peers down at him.

Stiles pleads with him silently, still wiggling in his lap. Derek’s look of confusion turns to understanding. “Does my little boy have to use his diaper?”

No. Fuck no. He’s not pissing himself. He puts everything he has into his struggles, throwing himself back and forth to get himself free, but Derek only hushes him and hugs him closer.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, that’s what it’s there for. Go ahead and then Daddy will make you all nice and clean.”

He tries to get a scream out around the pacifier, but it’s too big.

“My poor baby. Daddy will help you.” Much to Stiles’ horror Derek puts his hand on Stiles’ stomach and presses down insistently. Stiles tries to clench his legs together, but the diaper is keeping them splayed. No, no no, he doesn’t want to piss himself …

“Sh,” Derek croons. “It’s okay, baby boy. Won’t it feel nice to have all that yucky pressure out of your tummy? Daddy will change you right away and give you a big kiss for being so brave.”

Stiles tries to hold it off, but Derek keeps pressing down, and he feels the diaper grow warm and heavy as the pressure in his bladder diminishes. At the same time he finally bursts into tears, sobbing hysterically as Derek stands and gives him the promised big kiss on his cheek.

“You did so good, sweetheart, Daddy is so proud of you. Now let’s get you all clean.”

He’s plunked down on a changing table and strapped down by the waist and upper chest so he can’t move. Derek undoes the snaps of the onesie and strips off the wet diaper, smiling reassuringly down at Stiles. There are baby wipes on the table and he grabs one, wiping Stiles off— touching him everywhere. Stiles can’t stop crying as Derek cleans him. He can feel Derek putting powder on him, hands gentle, and he goes completely still, as if that could stop it from happening.

“And now a fresh diaper for my baby…” Derek tapes up the sides. “There! All done!” He bends to smack a kiss right on Stiles’ stomach. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Stiles nods again, still sobbing so hard he can barely see. Derek awws and picks him up, cradling him so his head is in Derek’s shoulder. “I know it’s scary,” he says kindly. “But soon it will just be routine. This is the way things are now, little boy. Daddy is going to take care of you forever and ever.”

Stiles keeps crying while Derek sits back in the rocking chair and wipes his face with a tissue. It’s been a long time since anyone has held Stiles close, and despite everything Derek’s warm chest feels good. Eventually Stiles’ sobs taper off into sniffles and Derek kisses the top of his head. They stay like that for a while, rocking back and forth, while Derek murmurs over and over what a good little baby Stiles is.